Say I Love you (Hetalia Russia x America)
by Indepednt Skies
Summary: (kind of gory) Russia can't stand the sound of America's voice. When America comes over uninvited with a couple of drinks Russia unexpectedly slits America's throat. He isolates America in his home and enjoy's the fact that America can't speak anymore. Although as the months go by America begins to almost enjoys his forced silence; something Russia can't seem to understand. RusAme
1. Chapter 1

I always hated the annoying sound of your voice. It's loud, obnoxious, and irritating to listen to. How did you ever become the leader of the Allies? All you do is boast about yourself and stuff your fat face with food. I hate it, having to be ordered around by an idiot like you. I hate it, I hate these meetings, I hate the Allies, I hate the world, and most of all I hate you.

* * *

><p>"Yo! What up Russia"!?<p>

After an exasperating world meeting, for some bizarre reason, America came to my house. He came blasting through the door as if any house legally belonged to him.

"What are you doing here America-"?

"Hey! Russia! Your house is freezing! Isn't there any place in your country that's warm"!?

There he goes cutting off my sentences again. It wasn't only me too. He basically did that to everyone. Even if it wasn't even important he'd cut you off just to hear his own voice. I tried not to get impulsive by this brat and tried my best to smile, "And what if I said there was"?

"Then I would like to see it"!

"Why would you want to see it"?

"Because dude! I told you its freezing! It's always snowing here! I wanna see a big patch of green grass and run through it like when I was little! You're so cold Russia"!

It is as if he likes the sound of his voice, but I for one can't stand it. I wish he would just shut up. Imagining a silent America is rather scary, but at the same time I think it would be bliss if America couldn't speak; yes it would be bliss. If America's sound was engulfed by the snow, that would give me such pleasure.

"You always wear scarfs, you wear the heaviest coats, and your food is almost as bad as Britain's! But don't worry dude I brought some beer and as a sweet treat I brought some Coke"!

He's so aggravating always drinking sugary crap and insulting others; just shut up!

"I don't understand how you could live here!? I mean your sisters drive you insane don't they!? If I had siblings like that I would high tail out of this place in no time flat"!

America was too preoccupied by himself that he could never really be rattled by my ominous shadow like everyone else was. He could never tell; he's such an idiot. He raised a bottle of Coke up high with excitement and opened it shouting "Okay! It's party time-"!

*CRASH*!

I smacked the bottle from his hands and it shattered against the wall. America looked at me as if he was about to throw a childish fit "Hey!? What the hell was that for-!? Ugh! Hmpf"!?

I took my left hand, grabbed America by the jaw, and forced him to the floor. I was greatly amused by the confusion and fear he had in his eyes.

"Ha… haha… You can never shut your big mouth, can you America? Is that the only thing you can do; talk loud and insult others? I can stand you, but what I can't stand any longer is your voice. It's so high pitched and it echoes throughout my ears. Why can't you just shut the hell up"!?

When I raised my voice America began to tremble and I looked at him with such disgust. He's such a spoiled brat. He kept flexing his throat and I could feel his tongue struggling to speak, but my grip firmly kept his mouth shut. I looked over towards the glass Coke bottle and picked up the broken neck with my other hand. I straddled America so he wouldn't struggle and pointed the sharp tip at the base of his neck.

"Hmpf! Ugh"!

"I think everyone even Britain would enjoy a silent America? Yes, everyone would be better if no one could hear you".

The glass shard pierced through America's skin as I slowly pressed it harder into his neck and he kicked and screamed as I held him down. He actually managed to get words out as I leisurely dragged in across his neck.

"S-stop it! You psycho! Let go- Ugh"!

I pushed him back down pressing him into the wooden floor using my entire palm to keep his mouth shut. I slit his throat from end to end and threw the shard of glass across the room. He coughed and gaged on his blood and saliva. I was in such a haze, I never knew that watching America struggle and choke by my hands was so entertaining.

"*cough*! Ack-! *gasp*"!

I was having so much fun that I wanted to do more. We're both countries; America and I, our physical bodies can survive without hearts, so the same goes for other parts of our bodies. I wriggled my fingers into the wound and wrapped them around a fleshy and flexible like tube. I made sure not to grab the bone, I gripped it tightly and with as much force as I could muster I pulled it out.

Blood splattered everywhere, on the walls, and it seeped into the rug. I was a bit upset by it, but as I held the bloody flesh that I had just ripped from America's throat I was panting with excitement. I chuckled under my breath and as watched America's body twitch, I laughed. I wanted to make sure America could never speak another word.

* * *

><p>It's always dark during the winter in my country. The overcast is thick and could take days or even weeks to clear. My people are trapped in their houses because the snow is deadly and ruthless to those who underestimate it.<p>

"Hmm…"?

Somehow America was surprisingly mobile. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and then groaned as he sat up in the bed I had let him rest in. He looked rather pissed off and absent of what had happened. His hair was a mess and as he swung his legs over to hang over the side of the bed he moved as if his limbs were extremely stiff.

America looked around for me, but I was nowhere in his sight. He put his glasses on and rubbed his eyes once more. He was pretty calm until he tried to call out my name.

"rahh… uh-"?

Just then America's body froze; he didn't twitch, he didn't move a single muscle. His heart skipped a beat, maybe even two, and his face turned almost as white as the snow. He gazed downward even though the problem wasn't in his view. He trembled as he slowly brought his hands to his throat. He ran his fingers over the bandages I had wrapped around his neck and he felt small bumps that were concealed underneath the bandages.

Trying not to think of the worst he opened his mouth again to say something, but all that came out were pitiful whimpers.

"…ahh! …eh… aa…"!?

Feeling terrified America jumped from the bed and rushed into the bathroom bumping his sides and shoulders on the doorways and sharp corners. He burst through the bathroom door and clung to the bathroom sink as he tripped on the way in. He pulled himself up to the bathroom mirror, panting heavily.

"…ahh"!?

With trembling lips America viewed his bandaged neck for himself and as he stepped back a few steps he tore at the bandages and hurriedly unwrapped them. The blood stained bandages unraveled onto the floor and America stared in the mirror in shock at the protruding gash stretching across the front of his neck that was stitched closed with a thick thread.

"Ugh… ahhh…"

America slumped to the bathroom floor staring ahead in shock. I wandered through the door, slowly walked up behind him, and gently grabbed both of his shoulders. I hovered over him and smiled "Hmm? Is there something a matter America? Tell me what's wrong"?

"Ngh"! America looked up at me with one of the funniest glares he had even given me yet. I really couldn't help but laugh. He reached up and gripped the front of my scarf to try and pull me down, but even he knew that it wasn't possible with my size.

I patted his head happily, dragged him into the dining room, and propped him onto a chair at the dining room table. He tried to get up and strangle me, but I pushed him firmly back into the seat. He eventually sat there with an aggravated look as I placed a bowl of plain heated beef broth in front of him. I sat across from him eating a plate full of delicious Plov; a common Russian dish that consists of beef, rice, and few vegetables cooked together in a thick meat sauce.

America would look down at the still bowl of lukewarm beef broth and then back at me with an expression as if he was about to explode in a fit of rage. I took another bit and then swallowed with an optimistic attitude I taunted America "Is there something wrong America? Is the soup cold? Well that's your own fault then".

"…."

"I'm sorry that it's not like your distasteful burgers and French fries, but I don't even want to imagine what would happen if you tried to eat solids with that open hole in your neck".

"…"

"Come on don't just glare at me silently, I can't tell what you're thinking if you're silent. Then again it must be hard to speak without your trachea, hehe".

"!?"

"Hmm"?

America's left eye twitched, but he took a deep breath, lifted the bowl of soup with his hands, and threw it at my face. The bowl tumbled to the floor and my hair and sweater were soaked with beef broth. America slowly sat back down in his seat and looked at me with displeasure.

Of course I didn't right away blow up in his face. I gave it a moment for him to know what he had just did and I smiled and gave a small giggle. I then reached over and picked up the empty bowl, strolled over into the kitchen and dipped it into the boiling pot over the stove and refiled it. America watched me, but half way through he looked away, but when I came strolling back in with the bowl he flinched a little. I stood there with the bowl smiling down at him as he nervously waited for me.

Without breaking my happy expression even once I gladly took the bowl of boiling hot soup and bashed it into his face. I stood there and watched as he tumbled to the floor and tried to wipe the hot soup off his face. The ceramic bowl shattered as he coughed and gaged on all fours and he gave up just lying there helplessly and pitifully.

"*cough*! Ugh! Ngh-"!?

I strolled over to him and pulled him up by his hair that was dripping in soup.

"Do you understand now America"?

"Ugh…"

"The position you're in? I can do whatever I want to you and you can't say a single thing about it. You have no voice America, so basically you have no rights. How does it feel to have your freedom taken right from under your nose? How does it feel not being able to have a say in anything? No more excuses, insults, and words of arrogance will escape from your lips, and you know what the best thing about this is"?

"...uhh…"?

"Hehe. Is that no one cares if you can speak or not".

"….", he looked away, too ashamed to look me in the eyes.

Letting go of his hair, I let him lay there in self-pity. I walked out of the room planning to go for a stroll in the snow and could hear him sniffling on the floor still desperately trying to speak.

"…ahh *hic* ugh… *sniff* …agh…"

_**~To Be Continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

I had left America alone for a while just to give him some space, but when I had come back he was still laying there curled up on the floor. It turns out he had actually fallen asleep. I couldn't believe he was still lying there, like a helpless child; it's pathetic. I placed him to bed and then went to sleep myself, but I had forgotten that America isn't always as dumb as he looks. He is the first country ever to learn all the languages in the world and speak them fluently and he did beat me to the moon, but I'm not going to go there. America had found his own way to make words.

"*scribble* *scribble*"

"Hmm"?

It was about 4:00 AM when I had heard some strange scribbling sound throughout the house. I leaned up in my bed and pulled over the thick cover to switch on my nightstand lamp. I rubbed my eyes, fixed my sweater, and strolled into the living room.

Before I turned the lights on I followed the sound of the scribbling. The sound eventually led me to my work desk. I could faintly see America's curl bouncy as he moved at a seemly fast pace. I stood hovering over America and when I turned on the lights I saw him clutching a pen tightly in his right hand.

"…"!?

America was so surprised by my entrance that he fell out of the chair he was sitting in. It was kind of cute until I looked over at what he was doing. Scattered on my desk were pages and pages of hand written letters. I looked back at the frightened America with a dry expression.

"America…"?

"…."

I knelt down in front of him and as he tried to squirm away I held out my hand and said "America give me the pen".

Instead of handing me the pen he tightly clutched in his hands he trembled as he handed me a piece of paper he had shoved in his pocket. It was crumbled into a little ball so I unraveled it, and in really sloppy hand writing, it said "[Why?]"

"Haha… _Why?_ Hahaha! You are so funny America!" I crumbled up the small paper as America looked up at me confused.

"…."?

Eventually I stopped laughing and pulled America up by the neck of his jacket. I explained "Did you think I ripped out your throat all on a whim? No I did of specifically so you couldn't speak. I wanted to make damn sure that you could say a single word with that flapping tongue of yours. Now I won't ask again America give me the pen".

It was almost amusing. America trembled and looked as if he was about to burst into tears. He dropped the pen he held so tightly and I swiped it from the floor. I let go of his jacket and commanded him firmly "Now go back to bed".

"…."

America sluggishly slinked back onto the couch, curled up and went back to sleep. Although I on the other hand could not get back to sleep; I tossed, turned, and struggled to keep my body still and my eyes shut. My God? How does America fall asleep so fast without any trouble?

I reluctantly kicked off my covers and wandered into the kitchen to grab a mug of vodka. It's sweet with a sharp punch to enlighten your tongue. After some groaning and grogginess I became bored enough to take a glance at what America had so desperately tried to write.

Those scrambled papers were scattered across my desk and most of them were simple American phrases.

"[I'm hungry]"

"[This is lame]"

"[You're an ass!]"

"[I need a belt buckle]"? I couldn't quite understand that last one, but then the rest were letters to Japan, someone named Canada, and Britain. I at least decided to read Britain's.

"[Dear Britain,

You're probably thinking that I'm dead by now from eating too much, but really it's just a small cold. I'm trying to get through it quickly so I can return, but my boss has been in quite a fix lately with the economy and loss of jobs throughout the country so I might not be back for a while; in which case I'm leaving you in charge until I get back. I know you probably think I'm an idiot from doing all the things I do that you think are stupid, but really I'm fine. I promise you no matter how long I've been gone I'm completely alright. Anyway I've got a bunch of paper work to do; Ugh! This is so lame! Anyway see you around.

Sincerely, America]"

At that point I actually began to feel guilty, but I didn't regret anything. I placed the letter back on the desk and when America woke in the next couple of hours, after I placed a bowl of his usual bland beef broth, I placed the pen next to the steamy bowl. As usual I went to sit in my seat across from him and waited to see what he would do. America just looked at me really weird. He'd look down at the pen, then back at me, back down at the pen, and then again back at me. It was as if he was asking permission with his eyes if it was okay to take it. I just tilted my head, closed my eyes, and smiled.

America hesitated at first, but he quickly swiped it from the table and held it securely in his lap. He then quickly looked back at me, but I just mildly ate my breakfast. The expression of relief overwhelmed him entirely, as if he had just escaped a death sentence.

I went back to eating my breakfast and after a little while America suddenly reached down his jacket and pulled out a medium sized note book and immediately began to write. I looked at him unamused and said "You took my note book too"?

America nodded as he wrote, and when he was done he tore the paper from the spine, folded it in half, and pushed it down to the other end of the table to me. I looked at that white paper with indifference; I picked it up, and read it to myself.

"[Thanks asshole]"

"Hehe… Your quite welcome", I smiled in reply and America gave me this smirk as if it was to say that we were equal. He lifted his bowl and it one gulp he swallowed the whole thing; which probably wasn't the smartest idea because he choked, but you know American's when they're happy their happy idiots.

"*cough*!*cough*! ugh…"

"Hehe don't drink so fast America, you'll choke".

"Ehh…", America scribbled on his; well my notepad again and held it up in front of him, "[Right! Thanks again dick! : ) ]"

"Hehe…", I smiled back at him, but secretly I suggested in the back of my mind that maybe I'll just let him have the pen and my notepad on certain days of the week.

* * *

><p>It took a while to notice, but it seemed as if the days were going by much faster. It's been a couple of weeks ever since America lost his voice, and the laceration on his neck was healing well, but it's pretty big.<p>

When I unraveled his bandages for the last time the wound was a scar. It was a lighter tone compared to the rest of his skin. It wasn't like a thin line going across his neck. It was a thick line that stretched out like spikes as if it was spreading to the bottom of his chin down to the top of his collar bone. It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't unattractive or displeasing to the eye, it was just very obvious and rather difficult to miss.

When I gave America his breakfast I noticed something. I placed his sixth bowl of soup down and took a good long look at him. He looked up at me and asked "[Is something wrong?]"

"Hmm…? America do you feel weird"?

"[Um? I don't think so?]"

America looked so befuddled the entire time I observed him. I had realized that America had never been outside once ever since he got here. Maybe I should take him outside for once? I mean what am I supposed to do when he's as pale as the moon? I really didn't want to show him any kind of freedom, but just once I would like to see his reaction to the snow.

Like the total slob he is he picked the bowl up and drank the whole thing again. Then again maybe I'll just bury him in the snow?

"[Hey can I have another bowl!?]"

"Hmm? America…?", I took the bowl from him and then grabbed him gently by the chin.

"Ugh!? A-ahh…!?", he blushed so red, like a teenage virgin. I never get tired of messing with him. He was completely speechless it almost looked like he was going to wet himself.

I lifted his chin up at looked at that long stretched out scar that almost looked as if it was going to consume him. I pulled his face closer and mine half way and stated with a smile "America I know you're not a very big fan of snow, but you don't really have a choice because if you go against me I won't tolerate it. Hehe… and you've already learned that the hard way".

America was acting really weird. He was rubbing his knees together as if he had an itch and his cheeks were puffed out as if he was in some kind of pain. His face was as red as a tomato. I smirked and brought my face closer and whispered softly to him "What's wrong America? You got a problem down there? If you want I can help"?

"Ah… A-ahh…"

"Come on America use those pitiful little sounds to tell me what to do".

"Uh… Uahh"!

*smack*

America smacked my hand away and dashed into the bathroom. I stood there in surprise and America threw the paper at me. I picked it up and read it "[I've gotta take a major piss! Why'd you let me drink that much soup!? Asshole!]"

"Sigh~ because you asked for more. Idiot"

When America eventually took care of his business I made him put on his coat, his scarf, his boots, and even his mittens, but there was something missing. I looked at him and I realized that every time America walked his cowlick would bounce sometimes. I told him "You need a hat".

I handed him an old hat of mine. It had blue and red stripes on it, but unfortunately no white. He held it and looked at it distastefully.

"[Huh!? I don't need a hat! I'm a hero! Hero's don't wear hats like these! They wear Awesome really cool looking masks to hide their identity as they do badass things!]"

"America…"?

"[What!?]"

"Put the hat on"

After I gave him my death stare it didn't take long for America to put the hat on.

When I opened the front door America didn't hesitate once to burst through and leap into the snow. He was so enthusiastic and eager as nothing could stand in his way. He tumbled in the snow and rolled around in it. I lowered my head in disgrace and thought; he's such a child.

I left America enjoy himself for the day and looked around. In this place it doesn't stop snowing often so I took the chance to observe. When the amount of snow goes down somewhere out here there is a small but deep lake, but when it snows heavily it always manages to elude me because the snow tends to consume everything under it. I looked everywhere but I could remember where the lake was located; until I heard a crack echo from below, right underneath my feet. I turned and looked to my right to see America mindlessly jumping around, and the crackling sound didn't bother me until I heard it again, and it was coming from America's direction.

It was always an ability of mine; it's almost like a sixth sense, being able to hear the sounds that the snow absorbed. I kept telling myself it was nothing, but when I heard it again and louder this time I looked over towards America again and watched him stumble.

"America"!

I don't know what came over me? It happened so fast, but I never ran so fast for another person. I've felt it before, the sudden shift as your body plunders between the crushing ice and into the freezing water. That blistering cold doesn't just quickly take you and turn your body numb; it breaks you like thousands of small needles piercing through all your nerves at once. It horrific and excruciating, and as you helplessly bang on the ice to breath your heart is thumping and beating so loud and so hard that it feels like your is pounding against two rough cement bricks gradually pressing together.

I grabbed America by his hood and pulled him backwards almost dragging him. Then the idiot tripped again and we tumbled together down a small hill. America landed stuck on his back with his arms half way above his head and I hovered on top of him breathing heavily.

"…"!?, America looked up at me with a clueless expression.

"*pant**pant*", I was completely out of breath. Breathing in this dry frigid air could possibly be the death of me if I breathed it in hard enough.

America pulled his notebook out of his jacket and held it up to me "[Is there something wrong?]"

I'm exhausted and covered in snow, so it didn't take much for me to yell at him by that point, "You're moron! Can't you be anything but that!? Maybe I should have ripped off your head!? You'd be smarter that way"!

"Pfft…. Ha- ahaha… Ha- haha-ha"!

"Huh!? Why the hell are you laughing!? If I hadn't pulled you off the thin ice the lake would have taken you! You could have died- Uh"!?

I looked up towards where I thought the cracks of breaking ice were splitting, but the only thing I saw a small broken branch. An entire sentiment of humiliation and absurdity stabbed me right through the chest; my pride just couldn't take it, what I had just done. I got up and whacked my head on nearby trunk of a withered tree and from behind me I could still hear America laughing.

"Ha! Ha-haha-ha! Haha-ha"!

Covering one side of my face with my hand and with my head still against the tree, I slowly gazed over at America and watched, humiliated and chastened as he rolled around in the snow laughing his ass off at my mistaking. I was really mortified, my cheeks were flustering, but I was also astounded at the fact that America can still laugh. It was choppy and jagged but it was still his voice, his sound, the obnoxious resonance that I so satisfactorily robbed from him. His stuttered laugh was nothing like those pitiful sounds that managed to escape from his throat; no this was proof that America's spirit, his existence; his freedom could never be completely abolished.

After a couple of hours of watching America make sloppy snow angels, I eventually had to drag him back inside the house in order for him to come in. I had already had a fire going so the house was nice in warm. When America was dragged through the front door he got a full blast of heat and complained about his nose, cheeks, and ears stinging; god he's such a child.

It was already late evening, so I sat America on the couch on front of the fire and threw a wool blanket at him for him to wrap himself in. I hovered over the stove stirring a pot of hot milk and smooth melted chocolate. I turned around and looked at the back of the couch to see America's small cowlick just reaching above the top of the sofa and hollered "America, do you want some hot coco"?

America held the notebook up above his head and dramatically wrote "[Yes!]"

I scooped a ladle of hot coco into a two mugs and brought it over to the couch, handed one to America, and then sat next to him. It wasn't quite as America chugged his down in less than a minute and after he went back for three more cup fills he finally began to settle down. I guess that means America has some kind of ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder) because it's said that young children with ADHD are calmed or relaxed when the consumption of sugar or hyper drugs such as caffeine is consumed in the body.

America was just drowsy for a couple of minutes, but then he began leaning on my shoulder. I was planning on pushing him off, but he was so harmless even though he did drool quite a bit. He held up for a little while but his body began to shift and he rolled over onto my lap. I looked down at him rather annoyed.

"America…"?

"*snore* ugh… nawhh…"

"Hmm…", I refrained from touching him and tried to focus on the relaxing fire, but his sleeping face was rather amusing. He'd open his jaw wide and snore with snot and drool dripping from his face like a yak trying to eat water and blow his nose at the same time; it was rather disgusting. Although I have to say that it's the only way I like seeing America when he's still breathing. He's quiet, and there's a 100% guarantee that he won't wake up for a couple of hours and you can put him anywhere and he'll sleep.

I regret it but I lightly stroked America golden hair; it was soft. I had to at least rest one hand on him or else I would have had to hold my arms up all evening. Since I was so comfortable I decided to just get the best out of the moment.

As America laid there vulnerable and careless I could see his wrists. As he rolled around his jacket sleeve shifted up his arms. His fingers and wrists were thinner than usual and in such a cold environment you need a nice layer of fat to keep you warm. America, like me, was rather large and bulky with maybe a bit of flub. As an adult he was never on small side unless standing next to me, which was almost never, so it was weird to see his limbs so skinny; they looked like they could be effortlessly snapped or pulled.

Then again the only thing America has ever eaten for a couple of months now is simple beef broth; anyone would become malnourished from eating just that. Although he's never tried to eat solids, but no matter how you look at it, if America keeps going on like this; he'll die.

_**~To Be Continued...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Apperently I had an issue with one of my viewers and I know it's a really violent Fanfiction so if the summary says "gory" in it please don't read this Fanfiction mostly because in up coming chapters it'll probably get violent again. This is my first gory Fanfiction so I'm Sorry if it offends anyone in anyway. I try write to please my readers not upset them. Also this is only chapter 5. I haven't been writing lately so I thought it would be okay if I didn't do this part in a pair. Sorry for my mistakes or errors and I very much welcome your reviews and likes. :)**

* * *

><p>"Remove it"<p>

"[Huh!? What hell are you saying!? I'm not taking it off! It's too cold for this shit!]"

"Just take off your damn shirt America"

"[NO!]"

This was a rather difficult way to start off the day. I got America up early the next day and lugged him into the bathroom as I got the tub ready. I rolled up my sleeves and prepared for the worst.

"America you haven't taken a bath in almost about a week"

"[No I washed my hair in the sink]"

"I meant your body dumbass"

"[I'm not taking a stupid bath!] Uh- Waa-!?", America shrieked as I forced him out of his shirt and he tried to shout "Prr-! Per-! Ert"! (He's trying to shout "pervert" :D )

America scribbled all over his notebook that I could barely make out his written words. I became impatient and grabbed the notebook and the pen and threw it out the bathroom door, I then grabbed him by the neck and kicked the back of his right foot forward and he slipped and landed into the tub with a big splash.

"Uh- Ugh! *cough**cough* Ahh!", he coughed and gaged a bit on the water but once he got his head above the surface and panted heavily a little I knew he'd be fine. I sighed and walked out picking up the pen and scribbled paper. I looked back at America who was holding his throat while gasping and glaring at me, and replied "You can have this back once you're done, but until then wash up and be quiet".

Like a child America smacked the water in frustration as I closed the door and left. He sunk his head under and let himself soak in the hot bath water and after a short while he popped out with a towel around his neck and his damp clothes shoddily put back on. He crossed his arms and walked up to me at the table stomping his feet.

"Ahh-! Ugh-"!? America held his throat in surprise and then slowly looked down at his feet desolately.

I pulled the notepad and pen out of the front of my sweater and handed it to him "You might want this back"?

He took it back still looking down sadly. I laughed at him and said with a cunning smirk "It's intriguing about how easily we forget things when we become impulsive"

Grinding his teeth with antagonism, America carved two words boldly into the paper and threw it at my face.

"[FUCK YOU!]"

Sitting at the other end of the table, still greatly annoyed, America scribbled a little on my table and then again in his notepad. I wandered into the kitchen and prepared a nice hot bowl of stew and placed it in front of America.

America looked up at me still annoyed and wrote "[What the fuck is this?]"

"Just eat it"

"…." America just stared at it silently and glared at it as he was intimidated by it. I grabbed the back of his chair firmly and spoke harsh words of encouragement.

"You know just as much as I do America that you need to at least eat something considered sustenance".

Becoming tense, America looked away from me too shaken to see me face to face, so I got closer and made sure that he heard me. I whispered in his ear and asked "What scares you more America? The thought of dying, or enduring just a little bit of pain"?

It took a moment, but America grabbed his notepad, wrote down his thoughts quickly, and slammed it on the table. He then quickly took a spoonful of stew and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed and looked up at me irritated as I read what he had written.

"[The inevitable truth]"

My mind was cluttered with concepts and theories of what America could have meant by those words. He chewed and chewed almost like a cow and he was going rather fast for having not eaten something so solid in such a long period of time. I wanted to tell him to slow down, but he suddenly stopped completely.

"-Ugh"!?

"America…"?

It was just like when he noticed his voice was gone, stopping completely, so scared he began to turn pale, and his body stricken and frozen by fear. America rested his forehead on the edge of the table and tightly grabbed his throat with one hand and covered his face with the other. It was as if he was telling me; no, begging me not to look. I knelt beside him and watched as his face cringed in pain. He shook his head as if he was shouting; No! No! No! No!

"America…"?

"Ugh! ...Mngh"!

While covering his mouth, America shoved me out of the way and dashed into the bathroom. He hung his head over the toilet and instead of consuming more food he lost more than he had when he woke up.

"Ugh! …Uh"!

"….", I stood silently in the doorway to the bathroom and watched. America wiped the corners of his mouth and slowly looked back at me with his eyes becoming watery. He gripped his fists tightly; got to his feet and tried again and again, and again, but anything that America ate that wasn't near to liquids just came back up.

Stubbornly trying to hold the food down America kept trying, but in the end it was useless. With dribble dripping from his chin he gripped the sides of the toilet, and placed the back of his hand over his eyes and tried to stop himself from crying. I approached him but he did not dare look at me with such shameful eyes.

"America…"?

"Ngh"!

I softly called out to him and attempted to lightly tap his shoulder but shoved me away. America didn't want to be seen by anything that had integrity and could judge. I stepped out and closed the bathroom door and leaned against it with my mind scrambling to elucidate the sentiments that awoke within me.

Is this what America meant by the inevitable truth? Knowing the possibility that the fact that the only way to live now was starve and wither away slowly? Knowing that no matter what he did he could do nothing to preserve the time that inevitably doesn't stop for anything? Dying, unless it was as a hero, was never America's style. So maybe, just maybe the inevitable truth isn't his fear? Maybe it's the fact that he'll have no choice to accept it?

In that one moment of thought I asked myself "What am I afraid of? What was it that I was forced to accept? Hmm…? I can't remember…"?


End file.
